


How Can I Love, When I'm Afraid to Fall?

by Panicattheverywhere



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: AKA richie is a mess, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Georgie's still dead RIP bro, Grief/Mourning, He's not mentioned tho so you can like, M/M, Resurrection, Stan Lives, The Turtle (IT) CAN Help Us, and he WILL, because fuck you thats why, because seriously what the fuck, idk - Freeform, imagine hes on vacation or smth, no really i love stan and he is NOT dead you bitches, otherwise-they kiss and thats it fellas, rated teen for alcohol and swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panicattheverywhere/pseuds/Panicattheverywhere
Summary: Stan Uris. Eddie Kaspbrak. Two people who, once upon a time, meant a lot to Richie Tozier. They still do. The only problem is, they're dead, and Richie doesn't know how to cope.AKA: I'm sad and I want the Losers to be ok again also fuck canon. ok? ok cool.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh (minor), Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris (minor)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	How Can I Love, When I'm Afraid to Fall?

Richie couldn't do it.

What was _"it,"_ you might ask? Well, take your pick. Whether it be getting out of bed, stopping crying... Talking to the others, getting up other than to pee or to get more alcohol... He couldn't do it. All he could do was stare at the ceiling, tears running down his cheeks and memories flashing behind his eyes.

 _Stan Uris._ A name he hadn't heard in so long, but the fact that its owner didn't exist in the world anymore felt... _Wrong._ It felt like a crime against humanity, like they'd ruined something that should be a human right. Stan, with his dry wit, rolling his eyes in annoyance at Richie's antics. Stan, who was fascinated by birds. Stan, who stood in front of the crowd at his bar mitzvah, telling them that he was a Loser, and always _fucking would be._

Stan, who wasn't alive anymore. Who'd decided that he had to take himself out of the equation, to ensure that they finally beat It. Richie felt his breath catch in his throat as he shook, sobs wracking his body.

And, something that somehow hurt worse than losing Stan. _Eddie Kaspbrak._

Eddie. How could he even begin to describe the pain that was losing Eddie. Everything hurt, and everything reminded him of Eddie's absence. The hotel reminded him of how Eddie would always rant about the amount of germs and bacteria there were on hotel sheets alone, do you even have any idea about the sickness rates, Richie-

Memories with Eddie came like breathing. The hammock as kids, making sure that he looked at him and not It when they fought it, back in '89, sneaking into his room, even on school nights, reading comics together, and _being in love with him._ The overwhelming feeling of love in every memory made the pain more painful. He never got to tell him, and then it was too late. He was in that _damn_ cavern, all alone, and he'd hate it. He never liked the dark, and the dirt, the germs, the walls closing in-

Richie choked out a sob, trying to drink more from the bottle, only to find it empty. He'd been raiding the hotel's bar, and figured it wouldn't be missed, considering the weird lack of employees. He groaned, head falling back on the bed as someone knocked on his closed and locked door.

"Richie, honey?" It was Bev. "Richie, please come out here. You haven't come out of your room for days." How _could_ he? Eddie was gone. What was there to get up for?

Bev pounded on the door. "Really, Richie, we're worried for you. Eddie meant a lot to all of us, but-"

Richie cut her off, standing and opening the door. "Do _not_ even PRETEND that he meant 'a lot' to you. You all made me leave him. He's lying down there, alone. Because we **abandoned him.** So don't give me that 'Oh, Eddie meant so much to us' bullshit. Because you didn't even _try_ to save him."

Bev looked at him, expression unreadable. Was it fear? He _had_ just had a massive outburst after days of radio silence. Was it pity? He knew he looked horrible, eyes probably bloodshot from lack of sleep and tears. His hair messed up and oily, shirt covered in wrinkles. He probably reeked of alcohol, too. He didn't care. Why should he?

Richie expected Bev to do a lot of things, in that moment. Smack him? He'd deserve it. Cry? Oh, well. Join the club, sister. Leave, to go be with Ben and their perfect fucking fairytale ending? Maybe.

What he didn't expect was for Bev to wrap him in a hug. But that was exactly what she did, rubbing his back. "Oh, honey... I'm so sorry, Richie."

He felt himself melt in her arms, feeling the tears gathering in his eyes for roughly the millionth time.

"It hurts, Bev. I... I loved him. Like, a lot." Richie admitted, feeling the tears cascade down his face.

Bev just held him tighter. "I know, Rich. I'm so sorry."

They stood like this for a while, huddled together in the hallway, both crying more than they'd like to admit. Richie hadn't realized how much he'd needed a hug, until Bev was there to give him one.

After some time, they pulled back, Richie sniffling. Bev gave him a sad, sympathetic smile. "Why don't you come down, and have a sandwich? The others have missed you."

A moment's hesitation, then Richie nodded. "Okay..." He murmured, voice rough from lack of use and crying.

They walked down the stairs together, Bev keeping a gentle hand on Richie's shoulder to support him.

When they arrived downstairs, the conversations that had been happening quieted, and the remaining Losers looked at Richie, each making their own assessments. Ben immediately rose and went to the kitchen, making Richie something to eat. Mike, noticing what Ben was doing, moved over on the couch on which he was perched to allow Richie to sit. Bill grabbed a blanket from a chair that no one was using and draped it over Richie when he sat. Bev, with a final pat on the shoulder, moved over the couch across from Richie.

Ben came bustling back in with a sandwich, some potato chips, and a glass of water. He handed them to Richie, offering a sad smile before sitting next to Bev. The Losers all sat, Mike still next to Richie, Bill on Richie's other side, and Ben and Bev on the other couch.

Richie gave a small smile. "Thank you, guys..." His voice cracked with emotion. "Really."

The others all made general comments basically boiling down to "it's no trouble, Richie. We're just glad you're still here, with us."

Richie nodded and began to eat, listening as the others fell into comfortable conversations. He still felt like shit, but he didn't blame any of the other Losers for their actions. It wasn't their fault that Eddie felt like he had to get Richie out of the Deadlights. That weight fell on Richie alone.

That night, when Richie lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, he started speaking.

"Hey Eds." He began. He didn't know what he was doing. Didn't people talk to their dead loved ones? Wasn't that like... a thing? He didn't know, but he figured it was worth a shot. "I'm sorry. For a lot of things. I'm sorry that I got you killed, you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry that I couldn't get you out of there. You probably hate it down there, with the bugs and the dirt and the germs and-" He cut himself off, taking a steadying breath against the impeding sobs. "I just- I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never told you that I loved you. You deserved better than me, anyway. Better than your freakish mom-wife, too. I mean, really, dude. You had to get to her, before I could, huh?" He let out a wet chuckle. "Heh. Sorry, bad joke. God, I sound fucking insane right now, I'm talking to myself at fucking... What time is it?" He checked the bedside clock, reading it. "Three thirty in the morning."

He sniffled, wiping his eyes. "If Stan's... Wherever you are, could you maybe tell him that I'm sorry to him, too? He deserved better than what he got. He deserved a better life, he deserved to live with his wife in Georgia and look at those fuckin' birds he loved. You both deserved better than what you got... I'm sorry, guys."

He tried to fall asleep, having a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of Eddie, the hole through his chest, Stan, a bathtub filled with blood, and a vague impression of something saying _"I WILL FIX THIS."_

Richie awoke with a start the next morning, groaning and taking a shower. His hair was starting to clump together, in the way that it does when it's too greasy for it to be socially acceptable. As the water ran over him, he tried not to picture the water as Eddie's blood, the way it had gotten all over him before they had to leave him behind. He tried not to picture the last time Stan had been in a bath. He tried not to picture anything at all, just to wash himself enough that the others wouldn't be too concerned.

He got out of the shower, dried off, got dressed, and, against his own better judgement, snuck into Eddie's room. He gulped at the blood on the floor. It was horrible, but it was all he had left of Eddie, other than the blood stuck in his glasses. He sank to the floor, feeling a mix of nausea and anguish rising in his throat. He didn’t know what to do anymore. How could he live on without Eddie Kaspbrak? He’d done it before, but even without remembering, life had seemed dull, like it was missing something. Now… He didn’t know what he’d do. 

Richie looked towards Eddie’s suitcases. _He shouldn’t…_ But he was helpless against himself at the moment. He opened one of them and pulled out a sweatshirt, pulling it on over his own shirt. It still smelled like Eddie. 

He went down to the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and grabbed his pocket knife from his room. He had some work to do. 

He walked out to the Kissing Bridge, laughing as the voice of Eddie came into his head,imagining what he’d say about driving with alcohol in the car.  
 _"Do_ _not_ _fucking drink and drive. The last thing we need is a car crash, with you in it. Do you even know the statistics of drunk driving? Hundreds of people die a year, dickwad!"_

He wiped his teary eyes, arriving at the bridge. He sighed, sinking down onto the old wood. His eyes searched until they found the mark he'd made, back in his teen years. _R+E._ It seemed so long ago, but the feelings were still fresh.  
He got to work, re-carving it. He was drinking steadily as he did so, which was probably not the best choice, as he was working with a knife, but he couldn’t make himself care.  
Once he was done, he stepped back, admiring his handiwork. He smelled Eddie’s jacket. Maybe, if Richie just closed his eyes, he could pretend that Eddie was still here. 

“Richie?” He heard from behind him. _That voice… Eddie?_ “Richie, what’s going on?”  
Richie turned, not believing his own ears. But… There he was. And next to him… Was that _Stan?_ “Holy crap. Holy fucking shit. I’ve actually lost it. Holy fuck.” Richie laughed, running his hands down his own face. He had to be hallucinating. That was it. It must’ve been the alcohol.

Stan looked concerned, as did Eddie. “No, Richie, we’re really here.” Stan tried to assure Richie, but ended up only making him start to shake.  
“No. No, you fucking clown, we beat you. You don’t get to use Eddie _and_ Stan against me. Not fair, it was bad enough before, when it was just Stan, which, by the way, not fucking cool. My best friend? Not cool.” 

Not Stan looked touched, but also sad. Not Eddie spoke up. “Richie, it’s really us. Trust me.”  
Richie laughed hysterically, shaking his head. “No, no thanks, Not-Eds. Don’t feel like getting shanked by a clown wearing the faces of my best friend and the love of my life, thanks. Maybe next time, Shitty-wise.”

Not Eddie looked shocked. Not-Stan rolled his eyes. “Look, Richie, we don’t exactly know how we’re back, but I really just want to give you Losers a hug and then call Patty, so I don’t have the patience for this. It’s really me, okay? I’ll tell you something It wouldn’t know.”  
Richie nodded, prepared to listen, but scared of the possibility of it actually being them.  
Possibly-Stan sighed. “At my bar mitzvah, you were the only Loser able to come, and I made a speech that may or may not have contained the word ‘fuck.' So.” 

Richie stared at him in disbelief, a watery smile slipping onto his face. “Holy shit. Stan.” He whimpered, charging forward for a hug from his formerly deceased best friend. He wrapped his arms around Stan tightly, feeling tears pouring from his face.  
Stan wrapped his arms around Richie, affection in his voice as he spoke. “Hey, Richie.”  
Richie felt sobs wrack his body as he held Stan tighter. “You’re okay. Oh my god. You’re here.”  
Stan gave Richie a squeeze. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Rich. You didn’t deserve all the pain I put you through. None of you did.” He turned his head, most likely directing the last part towards Eddie.  
Richie shook his head. “It’s okay, Stan the Man. You’re here now, that’s really all that matters.” 

He slowly separated from Stan, remembering that Eddie was there. “Oh my god, Eds.” He charged forward, hugging Eddie just as tightly as Stan.  
Richie couldn’t see Eddie’s face, but he could tell that he was smiling as he muttered, “Not my name, but I missed you too, Trashmouth.”  
Richie felt himself start to cry again. Eddie was okay, and so was Stan, and Eddie’s arms were around him, and they were _alive,_ and safe, and _here, with Richie._  
Eddie pulled him tighter. “Hey, it’s okay, Richie. It’s all okay.”  
And it _was._

After sitting there for a surprisingly long time for Eddie to allow Richie to spew salty tears and snot down the back of his shirt, they pulled away.  
“Wait, Rich, is that _my_ sweatshirt?” Eddie asked, a smirk on his face.  
Richie blushed, stammering before deciding on how to answer. “Listen, dude, I didn’t pack anything warm, I wanted to take a walk, and I figured you wouldn’t...miss it.” He finished, trying to ignore the way his stomach dropped at the end of his statement. _No, it’s fine, Eddie’s here, he’s alive, he’s still here._ _  
_Eddie seemed to notice Richie’s change in mood, as did Stan, because they both got closer to him, Stan putting his hand on Richie’s shoulder. A quiet reassurance, that they were here, and okay. Richie really appreciated it, shooting Stan a smile.

They started walking back to the Town House, Eddie scolding Richie when he sees the whiskey bottle. ( _“Do you really want to get arrested that badly, Richie? Damn, I die for- what, three days? And you try to go to jail. Jesus, Rich-)_

When they arrive back at the Town House, Richie calls out to the others. “Honey, I’m home!”  
Bev steps into the main room, smiling, “Good to hear you’re feeling better Ri-” She stops, seeing Stan and Eddie. Stan waved awkwardly. Bev called over her shoulder. “Uh, guys? We have a situation.”  
The other Losers come in, armed and ready. Ben has a beer bottle, Bill has a butterknife, and Mike has one of Bill’s books. Richie rolls his eyes as the other Losers experience the shock and fear of seeing their friends back from the dead.  
“It- we killed It, how can this happen?” Mike gasps, steadying himself on the doorframe. He looks like he might either vomit or pass out.  
Richie shook his head. “Guys, no, it’s actually them. I thought it was It too, but then Stan said something only he would know. And Eds here is… I mean, Pennywise couldn’t make a face that stupid, am I right?”  
Bev let out a choked laugh as she looked from Eddie, to Stan, to how happy Richie looked. A few tears fell from her eyes, and she wiped them away. “I… I don’t believe it.”  
Ben came next to her and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Sorry for the freak- out, guys, it just felt… Too good to be true.” He sniffled, putting down the beer to wipe his eyes.  
Bill stared, unable to believe that it was really them. “I-it’s r-r-really good to see you g-g-guys.” He managed, breathing heavily. 

All of the Losers seemed fixed in place, like there was a wall dividing them and the recently resurrected. Stan stepped forward, deciding to fix this. He opened up his arms, and Bev stepped forward, choking on a sob as she accepted to embrace. This led to a flurry of people rushing to hug Stan, Eddie, and Richie.  
“Wait, why are you guys hugging _me?_ It’s not like _I’m_ the one that’s died and come back here. Not that I don’t, uh, appreciate the attention.” Richie spoke up.  
Bev turned to him. “You kind of did, though. Other than yesterday, we hadn’t seen you since Eddie… Well. Since _Eddie_. We lost two Losers in the same day, and now we're getting the whole group back. We missed you, Richie."

Eddie frowned. "Richie, what were you doing for the three days I was gone? Be honest." The chattering of the others came to a stop.  
Richie groaned. "Look, Eds, it's really nothing important, and you're back now, so we really don't have to worry about whether or not my coping mechanisms are healthy, okay?" 

Stan stepped in, to give his two cents. "Richie, everyone here cares about you." He looked around. "And we just hope you know that. I wasn't even here and I'm worried for you."  
Richie nodded. "Okay. Yeah. Uh, basically I got wasted and cried in my room a lot? Talked to the ceiling at three in the morning. It was fun stuff." He put up jazz hands.  
The Losers all looked to each other, agreeing simultaneously to give Richie a hug. They wrapped around him, giving him comfort. He took in deep breaths, feeling calmer than he had in days. 

That night, after everything had settled down, Richie laid in bed, thinking about everything that Eddie and Stan had said about how they'd come back. Apparently, they both had a hazy memory of a turtle, and something about a debt being repaid with their rebirth, and then they woke up. Stan had woken up a few feet from Eddie, near the Kissing Bridge. They had heard Richie talking, and walked towards the noise. 

Richie was still in shock. His best friend was alive. Stan the Man Uris was okay, and could live on. Eddie, the love of his life and one of his closest friends, was alive. He could breathe again, knowing they were out there, breathing too. 

As he laid in thought, there was a knock on the door. "Room soivice? Oh, thank gawd, ah thowt yu'de nevah come!" Richie called out, in a mock-cockney ritish Voice. It wasn't good, but it wasn't bad. 

"Very funny, Trashmouth. Lemme in, would you? I've got something to talk to you about." Eddie. 

Richie stood, opening the door to let Eddie in. Richie couldn't help but look at him in a little bit of amazement. He was okay, still. No gaping hole, no blood, nothing. "What's up, Spaghetti Head?" He asked, smiling crookedly.  
Eddie shook his head at the nickname, closing the door behind them. "Richie… You said something on the bridge, and I can't stop thinking about it." 

Richie thought back. "Listen dude, I've said a lot of things on that bridge, you have to be more specific. If it was that message I wrote to your mom, ignore it, that's for the grown-ups to read." He gave a shit-eating grin.  
Eddie rolled his eyes. "No, dickwad, I mean when you called me _the love of your life."_

Richie's eyes widened and his pulse sped up. Did he really say that? "Uh, must've been mistaking you for your mom, you know, it happens." He said, clearly not confident in his answer.  
Eddie sighed. "Richie, it's okay if you love me, I just… I have to know. Do you, or do you not?" 

Richie gulped. He couldn't outright lie to him, not after everything they'd been through. He sighed, before nodding. "Yeah, I'm a flaming homo. You happy now, Eds?" He said, eyes on the floor. He didn't want to see Eddie's expression. Surely, it would be filled with disgust. 

"Yes, actually.” Eddie’s response came, and Richie continued looking at the floor, sure that he was about to get hit with the good ol’ _never talk to me again, you freak._ Eddie spoke again, voice soft. “Hey, Richie, look at me." He gently lifted Richie's face. Richie reluctantly looked into Eddie's eyes, expecting disgust and horror, but only finding love and acceptance. He didn't know what to say, casting around for a joke to say, until Eddie pulled him into a kiss. 

It was like everything he'd ever imagined, but somehow better. Fireworks going off, butterflies, sparks, all that jazz. Eddie's lips were soft and warm against his own, which were chapped and probably tasted like cheap liquor. 

When the kiss ended, Richie couldn't stop looking at Eddie. This man, right here… He loved him back? But what about- "Oh, shit, dude, your wife!" Richie realized, stepping back. "I'm so sorry, you probably didn't even want that, I just totally-" 

"RICHIE. It's okay, I called her a bit ago and told her I want a divorce." Eddie interrupted, eyebrows raised. “You really think I wouldn’t think of that? I’m a _risk analyst_ for a living. Obviously, once I realized that I didn’t love my wife, and I loved someone else… Well, the risk was worth the reward.” 

Richie licked his lips, nodding as he tried to compute this information. "Yeah, right, okay, you- WAIT, WHAT? You… Left your wife, for me?" He asked, stunned.  
Eddie nodded, rolling his eyes with a loving smirk. "Yeah, well don't let it get to your head, Trashmouth." 

"I just. Wow. Is this a dream? Am I still in the Deadlights? There’s no way this is real.” Richie stammered.

Eddie’s brows furrowed with sympathy. “No, Richie, it’s really me. I promise.”

Richie nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. It’s just… I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like… A dream come true. Little Richie totally had the hots for Little Baby Spagheds." 

Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes at the nickname before kissing him again. 

When they pulled back, Richie looked at him, his vulnerability clear in his eyes. "Eddie, please, stay tonight? Not like, anything weird, I just… Don't want to be alone tonight." 

Eddie nodded. "Oh course, Trashmouth. Who else is gonna make sure you get up in the morning at a reasonable time so we can all go out for breakfast?" He smiled.  
Richie shook his head. "Nuh uh. Seven o'clock is _not_ a reasonable time. It's an hour that only lunatics and high school students get up at."  
"No, it's _perfectly reasonable,_ and you're just lazy!" Eddie began, and so it began. The endless bickering that always came with the two. 

Richie couldn't be more thrilled. This was how it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first IT fanfiction, so please let me know if they're, like, horribly OOC, or something!  
> Feel free to leave comments, I love reading them!  
> Have a great day, and keep on being amazing!


End file.
